A New Beginning
by Laniebobanie
Summary: SPOILERS FOR CLOCKWORK PRINCESS Takes place after Clockwork Princess but before the epilogue. The main character, James Herondale, dealing with his father's death and his mother leaving him.


Before I continue I would just like to say SPOILERSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS OKAY IF YOU HAVEN'T READ CLOCKWORK PRINCESS YET PLEASE DO NOT READ ON.

Okay well I just finished clockwork princess yesterday and needless to say the ending was a complete bawling fest. I always love continuations of books were the children of our main characters take over (as you can tell) so the epilogue was great for me. But I decided I wanted to write more on the matter. So basically it's just a one shot of James Herondale's (Tessa and Will eldest son) reaction to everything. So I really hope you enjoy this! I worked super hard on it!

James Herondale sat, his back perched in an old armchair that sat in the quiet room of his mother and father's old home. The word _old_ stung him like any injury he had felt but worse. He was here alone. Holding a book in his arms, one of his fathers that had sat on his bookshelf. It hadn't been touched for a while, in the last years of his life, his father hadn't spent much time reading like he used to, and instead spent it dictating what his children should read next. He hadn't looked at the title of the book but he knew he must have read it at one point. His father was endlessly pouring books into his hands to read. James held the book in his arm, refusing to look down at it. He knew he'd get the flood of memories which came with every book. He just held it in his callused hands. The feel of a book reminded him of his father alone and that comforted him just alright.

The house was so quiet, and that's what bothered James the most. This house was never quiet. Not even in the last few months when his father had been sick. His father would be brutally ruining a song, or making up his own. His mother would be playing around with James' own children, his sister's children, her nieces and nephews. There were always kids running around this house, kids training how to be shadowhunters always proved to be more active.

James, thinking about it, didn't really know why he was here. No one was here so why bother? He sat in the arm chair that sat next to the bed that only days ago Will had lain. He remembered that day very clearly. Everyone close to his father had been here. His Aunt Cecy and Uncle Gabriel, there two sons. Sophie and Gideon's two daughters. A shame that Gideon had passed away a few years earlier. Charlotte and the abundance of Fairchild kids. James's wife had been there with his child. And his sister Lucie, who was married with a new child.

He remembered his mother being a wreck that day in particular. The Silent Brothers said they could not do anything to help Will. They all sat together, in this room. They went around talking about him and the memories of Will Herondale. James had so many memories he could have shared. Training with his father, the books they had read, but he chose to share the hatred his father had for ducks. James laughed at the time he shared it, and so did everyone else. His father, too weak to join in, smiled at his son. The smile nearly broke him, he remembered. Not once in his life had his father smiled at him like that. Maybe something like it during his childhood. But this smile radiated the pride he had in James. Never once had William Herondale ever looked so warm. His lips curved in happiness and there were only small flickers of weakness. Other than that, looking at him smile like that, made James believe he was fine. That he'd wake up tomorrow and get up from the bed he'd been in for so long. But of course he didn't.

The truth is, James didn't know what to do with himself. There's so much he could be doing, should be doing rather. Being home with his family, running the institute that was newly passed down to him now, or just sleeping. The last time he'd looked at the clock it was past midnight. He was lost, he thought. And when James felt lost he went to his mother for help. Her wise words usually washed over him as refreshing as a shower. And where was his mother? Had he come here to look for her? Oh he knew she wouldn't be here. She hasn't been here since two nights ago. The night after his father's funeral. He remembered.

"James, why are you still here?" his mother's soft voice rang out towards him sitting in the same room as he did now. His mother's appearance had drastically changed in the past twenty four hours. She did not look any older, she couldn't have, but she looked so drained. The bags fell from her eyes. They were an endless scarlet ring. She looked, to be completely honest, dreadful.

"I only wish to keep an eye on you Mother." She dismissed his words with a hand.

"Please don't think you need to watch over me." She didn't look at James, not even a little bit. At the time James thought she didn't want the reminder of his father. As he strikingly resembled Will. But looking back at it, it must have been because she knew what she was planning to do the moment James left. "Your father would have wanted you home. With your family." _I should have known then_ James pondered.

"You're my family too." He remembered being astounded that his mother would ever say anything like that. She looked at him now. There was clear agony in her eyes. "If you feel too alone here, you're always welcomed in the institute." He meant it. He'd talked it over with his wife. If it meant his mother happy, he was willing. She shook her head almost feverishly. Then relaxed her shaking head and sat down on the made bed where Will had laid.

"I'm not sure what I'm doing yet James. But you really should go home." James looked hurt at his mother. He stood up and went to walk through the door. He didn't know this would be the last time he saw his mother. If he had, Angel knows, he would have done everything in his power to make her stay.

"James." She said in almost a whisper. His tall body turned around at his mother, who now had silent tears rolling down her cheeks. _They're for dad._ He told himself then. Now, he knows better. James ran over to his mother holding her tightly. Her tears dripped on to his sleeve, but he didn't mind. He found his own eyes stinging with tears that he promised to hold back for his mother.

"It's going to be alright mom." He promised her. "It's all going to be alright." He didn't know how that empty promise would ever be fulfilled. Her head wrapped in his arm tightly, moved up and down in a nod. He separated from her and looked into the grey eyes that had raised him, The grey eyes, full of pain. Looking at his mother, she did not look more than 18. If he'd paid attention to it, he's sure he was beginning to look older than his own mother.

"James I love you." A sudden outburst of affection surprised him but he did not question it. She pulled him into another hug. "James." She hummed his name once more into his arm. She wouldn't stop saying his name. When she separated the hug. James answered his mother.

"I love you too." James stood away from his mother now and grabbed his coat that was on the bed nearby. His mother rustled up from the bed and followed her son to the door of the quiet house. When they got to the door. He turned around to his mother once more, again, not knowing it was the last time he would see his beautiful mother. She got on her toes to kiss James' forehead like she used to do when he was just a boy when he had gotten hurt during training.

"Goodnight James." He answered her back with the same. And walked out of the door. He was not even a little suspicious.

Yet next morning when James and his family went to visit his mother there was no one in there. At first the terrifying thought had crossed his mind, suicide; he went straight to his mother's room and found nothing. James heart fluttered angrily as he searched the room. It wasn't until he noticed a very familiar object missing from the room.

Usually, a black case sat, leaning on the bed. It'd been there ever since he could remember. Him and his sister would get scolded beyond belief if they ever touched it. Only once did James actually see what was in it. It was a violin. He knew it had been Jem's. He never knew Jem. But he heard all the stories. Jem had been James' namesake. Though what he knew of Jem, he never understood why his mother and father would keep such an item. Neither of them knew how to play it. It just sat there. Only did it come out when his father would clean the case.

Somehow he knew then. He knew his mother was gone. He knew that she left. He remembers breaking down then. Keeping quiet of course. He would never want his wife and child to hear him now. What was he now anyway? A blubbering child crying about his mother? He knew he was out of line but when the news sunk in that she was gone it had hurt worse than any wound.

It took a few moments after that for James to understand everything. To understand why his mother left. To understand that she did not leave him because she did not love him. Because she indeed did love him. There was evidence all around of why she left. Last night looking into her young face. _Young. _

James and his sister both knew Tessa would never die. At a certain age they were told what their mother was. It was always a question in a young James' mind what would happen when his father died. He used to cringe of the idea of his father being an old man while his mother stayed young and beautiful. He didn't quiet imagine this though. He would never imagine his mother gone from his life. No child would or could. Neither could he have ever imagined his mother voluntarily leaving him and his sister. But because James was a part of his mother, he understood her. She watched her husband die, and soon, maybe not incredibly soon, but James would die and after that James' children would die. So many deaths to watch. He hoped this was the reason at least.

"James?" The voice brings James out of this long string of daydreams of pain. The voice, though not loud, made James jump, dropping the book in his arms to the ground. The voice was a soft weak one. At first he had thought it been his mother, but he knew better. He looked towards the door of the bedroom. He hadn't even heard the door open.

"Aunt Cecy." He says, even himself amazed that he kept such a strong voice. She looks weak, just as his mother had been. Cecily is all he had left, how sad to think that.

"You scared me half to death, what are you doing here?" She spoke with the sort of tone, you would never have guessed her brother had just died. She spoke with, not a happiness, but with a plain voice. But if you were to look at her eyes, you knew the pain she felt.

"I don't know." Honesty fled from his mouth. "What are you doing here?" She gave a weak smile.

"I don't know why either." She took a seat on the bed and she looked towards the books piled on the nightstand. Cecily looked so much like her brother. It almost hurt for James to look at her. Her eyes drifted over the books one by one, then gently, fell on James. Her eyes dancing across his whole face. She didn't know where to look, he could tell, he reminded her of Will, the way she reminded him of Will. Her eyes, beyond all the pain read as helpful. She wanted to be helpful she wanted to say something to him that was going to make things better.

"You mustn't spend all your time dwelling on this you know." She breathed in sharply as if holding in something. Which she was, of course, everybody nowadays always held in tears. "That sounds horrible coming from me, who's just here to be surrounded by my brother's old belongings."

"Yes, but you're completely right." He makes himself pour out the words. He doesn't want Cecily feeling only worse, especially when he knew how hard she was trying.

"Did your mother say anything to you the night she left?" The question shocked James, leaving him without air for a second. It was so explicit. The night she left. _The night your mother left. _It was all in the past now.

"Nothing that I could have known at the time." He turns his head to the ground. Cecily reaches out her hand to touch his.

"Oh, no, James, I'd only meant it emotionally. If she left you with kind words. Did she?" He thinks about all the goodbyes she gave. The times she called out his name numerous times and the kiss on the forehead.

"Yes. She did." He says only, simply.

"I'm glad." James looks up now at Cecily, she's wearing a big smile now. You couldn't tell in the dark but because James was close enough to her he could see the tears. Big long tears running down her cheeks.

"Aunt Cecy…" He begins to get up towards her. She puts her hand out to stop him.

"No. I'm Fine. I'm just getting it all out that's all." He's confused. What in the world is she talking about, she wasn't planning on leaving either was she? After a moment of her wiping her tears and composing herself Cecily stands up.

"I'm leaving. And…" she looks around the room, her chin raised high. Her chin quivers. She hasn't gotten it all out but James lets her finish and believe she did. "I'm not coming back. I can't stay here and dwell on the death of my brother. And the absence of your mother." The news for some odd reason surprised James. "I suggest you do to the same James. But if you can't quite do it yet. I understand"

James imagines leaving this home. The home he was tied to. So many memories here. Of his whole family. Everything was wonderful here, well at least was wonderful once. Maybe Cecily was right. Nothing good could come out of sitting in the dark wishing for his mother and father back. It was not healthy for him nor his life outside of this home. Cecily sniffles and turns her back.

"I'll see you soon James." She takes one more look over her shoulder at the room. Focusing on the books again. She leaves without a sound.

After, what seems like a life time, James stands up. He looks around the room, but unlike Cecily he examines everything. If he was never to come back. He wanted to make the most of this last trip. He looked at his Mother's dresser. She had left some jewelry, keeping the only important pieces James would have guessed. His father's dresser was covered in books.

Cecily was right. James knew he needed to leave. He goes to the door, grabbing his jacket. It's only towards the last second does he realize the book he had dropped. He walks over to the book on the floor, bends down and picks it up. _A Tale of Two Cities _it reads. He has read it before. He places the book on the bed.

James walks back over the door, and this time without looking back at the dark bleak room. He walks straight out and finds himself at the door sooner than he had planned. That was good he thought. He couldn't leave so gradually. He needed to leave quick. Sure it would hurt but after a few seconds the pain would go away. Like applying an_ iratze_ to a new wound.

James would be okay. He keeps telling himself that, anyway. He needs to focus on his family. It's important to look ahead. He opens the door to the home he once found comfort in and stepped out quicker than he imagined he would ever do. Walking out into the dark gloomy night he runs his hand through his dark hair.

The dark made it hard to see, but for the first time since his father had passed, he felt like he could see. He felt things were clear now. He felt free. Not completely over his parents being gone. But able to look past it to consider his and his family lives. James Herondale, who hadn't smiled in days, cracked a sideways grin as he heard a low sound of a duck quaking from the backyard. James Herondale walked towards his home with an open heart and a widened mind.


End file.
